Impression, Soleil Levant
by sakka-socks
Summary: While visiting the Marmottan Museum, Terumi gets interested in one of Claude Monet's most notable works, the one that gave impressionism its name. He observes every brush stroke, the same way his two friends contemplate his every movement, his every breath.


I.

It was dawn.

Short, thick orange brush strokes against a faded blue background. Bold shadows hinting at the presence of a person in the foreground. And also a red circle, full like someone's mouth wide open, trying to swallow the sun and its light to keep it for themselves. The fisherman probably feels deceived knowing that he will not feel the warmth on his bare arms, yet he pursues his quest so he will not come home empty handed.

It was dawn on a canvas.

The blond boy was quick to notice the base colour of the painting was a grey – not a lazy, dull grey, but rather a carefully layered grey, which seemed to convey the impression of depth much better than some other impressionist paintings he saw this day. Even though the painting lacked detail, strictly speaking, the cold and rainy ambiance overwhelmed the viewer in a forced embrace. Yet the sun still looks the same as in the early mornings of summer. Vivid and warm, almost blinding under the fog of the Le Havre harbour. Ocean and water are merging together, yet the fisherman stands out so much against the dull background. Terumi made a mental note to stop being afraid of using heightened contrast in his own paintings; anything that could help him capture the essence, the impression of things just like those French painters he had read so much about. He took out a notebook from his purse, the expensive kind with a black leather cover and an assorted fountain pen, and opened it to jot down the title of this artwork: _Impression, soleil levant._

* * *

II.

Farewell, the good days when they went skinny dipping somewhere in the Ionian Sea! So long, the hot embrace of the Australian sun! Adieu, spicy gyros and Italian lasagna! It's three in the afternoon in Paris, and the trio has already visited four museums today alone. Nagumo didn't know Terumi had such a big interest in art until this trip to Europe and the Pacific. It was only a few days ago that Suzuno told him Terumi had been painting for a while, but never Nagumo had seen him at work. It didn't help that Terumi always hid his works in a stash. But Nagumo was not in the position to complain about art, since he was the one who insisted on accompanying him on his journey, after such a long time since they last met up. He keeps holding onto Terumi's hands, arms, shoulders. He tries to bridge the gap between them, but ends up digging it deeper.

"But, honestly? Even I can paint better than _this_!" Nagumo says in his usual grumpy voice, pointing at the gloomy artwork. He waits for Terumi's reaction – which ends up being a chuckle, as always.

"What about the impact this artwork had? It was such a new thing, to try and picture the reality like this, instead of doing a realistic painting."

What is realism, what is not. It's not like Nagumo really cares about it all. The only thing he knows is that any time he lets go of Terumi, he feels cold, even though his palms are damp with sweat. After a few seconds, it feels unbearable and so he intertwines his slightly tanned fingers with Terumi's again. The blond smiles at him, in a way that Nagumo chooses to believe means " _I like it when you're holding my hand_ " and he wouldn't be wrong.

* * *

III.

Suzuno is sitting on a chair, looking at his two friends from afar while he swipes away his dating app notifications. Filling in the blanks, Suzuno pictures Terumi with his lips ajar and his left eyebrow a bit more furrowed than the other – that's the way he looks when he is deep in thought. At the beginning of the trip, Suzuno had been surprised to see Terumi had started to tie his long hair with a ribbon. Red. It was the colour that suited him the most – like his eyes, like his lips when it gets hot outside. Suzuno honestly thought he had been wearing lipstick the first time he noticed. But red is also Nagumo's colour, and there's a small part in Suzuno that grieves at the thought that Terumi suits red much better than blue. How ironic it is that the walls surrounding them, at this very moment, are also painted a bright shade of orange.

He keeps on swiping the notifications away. It's all girls who want to "have a chat" with him. He thinks about deleting his account. He is almost scratching his phone screen with his nails as he swipes left. There's still dozens of notifications. It's a never ending hell.

"Are you having fun?"

The blond boy took advantage of Nagumo going to the bathroom to go and see Suzuno. Stealing a glance on Suzuno's phone screen, he recognized the dating app – most of his friends had been using it for a while. Terumi couldn't suppress a smirk when he saw the notification count in the corner.

"Look at you, you're so popular." he says while patting Suzuno's head, being careful not to mess up the hairdo that keeps Suzuno in the bathroom for thirty minutes every morning.

"Not really." Suzuno puts his phone back in his jeans' pocket. He wants to say more, but he chooses to swallow the rest of the sentence. It leaves a rash in his throat just like poison ivy.

"Sorry, maybe I'm taking too much time. I'm almost finished." The blond boy let his hand rest on Suzuno's thigh. He tries to keep up his shining expression, but Suzuno sees a small, worried wrinkle on the corner of his eye expression.

"Do your thing. We were the ones who decided to tag along, I guess."

Suzuno thought he was used to being misunderstood as cold even when he didn't mean to. But the sting he felt in his chest when Terumi's lips drew a faint, hurt smile, had him realize it's something you never quite get used to.

"I know it's–"

Suzuno interrupted Terumi's apology – he knew it was going to be one – by standing up. Before he can realize it, he grabs Terumi's hand as it falls off his lap. It is probably the first time he holds his hand outside of their regular high-fives, and Suzuno is surprised at how warm and big Terumi's hand is. It is a hand that could handle the sun itself. It suited Terumi, he who had pretended to be a god a few years ago – and who still bears the name of one, since only Suzuno and Nagumo dared to call him by his real name.

"Let's go." Suzuno says as he gently pulls Terumi to another room, basked in the tender light of the Parisian sky.

* * *

IV.

On his way to the bathroom, Nagumo walked through various exhibits, and paintings he saw from up close suddenly seemed much more palpable from afar. He had sit down on a bench near a grand piano, in the middle of a circular room, enjoying the fact that the museum was rather small and empty. From there, he could see the brush strokes on this big canvas making up a cloudy sky, an unfazed body of water, a vague horizon. Even in this muddy painting he recognized flowers bathing in the water, without help from the titles, as he couldn't understand French, nor the English translations. Probably Terumi does, as he started taking French classes a few months ago – and even without understanding, he would look up the meaning. Nagumo had noticed lately how Terumi started trusting less his senses, rather relying on knowing everything, shallow and deep. He would some nights spend a few hours reading difficult essays, history books and pieces of opinion. Was it the aftermath of the whole Zeus fiasco, when he got tricked by promises of strength and victory, and doped himself with the aqua of the gods without completely grasping what it was? Or is gathering all the knowledge he can, opening his eyes to other realities, a way for him to feed his saviour complex? Either way, if Nagumo cannot understand his reading list, at least he could acknowledge that in no way educating yourself could be bad.

Looking at another sky painting, Nagumo notices that looking at impressionist artworks is something soothing. Surely, it must allow Terumi to go back to the unworried days, where he can dive into the "essence" of the scene, following the rough and colourful strokes with his eyes. Where he can retrieve his discarded gut instinct, without fearing for consequences.

Nagumo stumbles back into the exhibit room where he left Terumi and Suzuno. The only thing in the room are various paintings, and his own shadow cast over the corner of the white wall. He is all alone. The sky is starting to fade into an orange colour. There's an unseen notification on his phone.

" _Come to the gift shop, u dumbass_ "

It's like Suzuno is watching over him even when he's not there.

* * *

V.

The phone screen goes black, and Suzuno lets out a deep sigh. He looks over Terumi's shoulder; the blonde is holding a hard-cover book about Berthe Morisot's life and artworks. His eyes are not darting on the pages, rather focusing on a single point, a single flower petal in a colourful oil painting. The way his eyelashes fall over his sight like a curtain, a translucent curtain that lets a certain sadness passing through. It was in no way similar to the confident stare Terumi bore on the soccer field, or on the sidelines when he's coaching. It was a fragile gaze, so fragile Suzuno was afraid it could break into tears with the blink of his eye. Suzuno reaches for a strand of Terumi's hair, tucking it back behind his ear as a way to attract his attention. The blond turns around to face him, and smirks – effectively concealing all hints of sadness on his face.

"You've told Nagumo we were there?" Terumi asks him, putting the book back on the stack. It merges with all the similar covers, and Suzuno becomes not so sure that his friend actually looked through one of these hardbacks. Maybe he also imagined the look on his face. He blinks twice, and nods.

"You okay?"

Terumi gives him a puzzled look. "Why not? I'm glad we can spend this time together, with you and Nagumo. I just–"

He gets interrupted by his phone. When he looks at the name on the screen, his eyes widen, and he excuses himself from Suzuno to take the call outside the shop. Suzuno tries to grab the sleeve of his cardigan before he goes away, in a fearful gesture, but the woollen fabric slips through his fingers.

* * *

VI.

When Nagumo enters the gift shop, there are a few people inside. He believes he will spot Terumi's tall body amongst the low book shelves, but the blond is nowhere to be seen. As he tries to walk his way towards the back of the shop, he feels a poke in the shoulder and a heavy weight on his back.

"Where you going?" It's a high, rather irritating voice.

"Get off me, Gazel."

The latter obliges.

"Didn't you see me near the entrance?"

"You're too short."

"You're even shorter than me, Burn."

A spasm. The two of them still had this habit of referring to each other using their old nicknames when they teased each other. But there's this subtle tension Nagumo can see in Gazel's eyes, near their inner corners, along his epicanthic fold that is so pronounced his eyes look like a fox's.

"Where's Terumi?"

"Taking a phone call."

"Something important?"

Suzuno shrugs as he turns away from Nagumo, sending him a last glare before making his way towards some book shelves. Nagumo wants to follow him, but gets distracted by the postcard display. He looks at them pensively, taking a few at a time. When he recognizes the one displaying the painting with lilies in the water, he shows it to Suzuno.

"You're interested in things like these?" Suzuno asks.

"What? It's for Terumi, not for me."

"Well, you could buy him something more… special."

Nagumo crosses his arms and sulks at the thought of his empty wallet. He shouldn't have bought that pair of Timberland shoes just before the trip – or maybe he should have brought more money to the exchange bureau. Either way, the few pennies in his pocket can only allow him to afford one of these decorated cards.

"You're going to get him something?"

"He was looking through that book." Suzuno shows him the big hard-cover. Thirty-five euros. He smirks because he knows he can afford it, having carefully avoided to splurge on souvenirs during the trip.

"Well, at least I can write him something! It's original!"

"Your handwriting is terrible. And I'm not even talking about your spelling."

Nagumo hits Suzuno's forehead with a flick of his fingers. The latter bites his lips in vexation, and catches the red-head's hand, squeezing it in a menace. His joints pop before he can get away from Suzuno's grasp.

"You want to fight?" Nagumo is almost yelling in the middle of the shop, startling an elder lady behind him. But Suzuno doesn't answer his anger; he walks up to the cash register with the hard-cover under his arm and his usual blasé demeanour. Nagumo reluctantly follows his trail, with a single postcard in hand. As they wait for the cashier to come around, Nagumo sticks to Suzuno, putting his head on the taller boy's shoulder, his chin sinking in the hollow behind his collarbone.

"Stop it."

"You love him, don't you?"

There. He said it. The question that burned a mark somewhere in Nagumo's chest. These words came out just like one removes a grape seed from their mouth – it seems tedious, yet it is an instinctive thing to do, putting your fingers between your lips, digging the seed away with your tongue. The harvested seed can produce another vine, a vine which produces grapes, which produces seeds. Snowball effect. It was just a brief sentence, yet Nagumo expected it to change everything. He holds Suzuno at his elbows so he can't dodge the question. But his friend doesn't try to get away; he's not even moving.

"Honestly, you're not in the position to ask me this."

* * *

VII.

Nagumo and Suzuno decided to wait for Terumi in front of the gift shop, hiding their presents behind them like children hiding their naughty behaviours. Nagumo keeps on giggling, proud of the postcard he just composed. A few minutes ago, they were still arguing about whether to write a message in Japanese, Korean or even French – Suzuno masters Korean much more than Burn, and Burn bragged about being able to write in French, before writing a single, crooked " _bonjuor_ " in capital letters.

When the blond enters their sight-line, he is walking towards the shop with his eyes glued on his phone screen, and his mouth covered by his slightly oversized cardigan sleeve. He lifts up his gaze, and notices the two of them staring at him from afar. Nagumo is the first to jump out, running towards him. Suzuno follows – he doesn't want to attract attention by running inside of the museum.

"Who was it?" Nagumo asks as Suzuno nudges him because he's being too loud. Terumi puts his phone back into his purse and crosses his arms as he always does.

"It was Gouenji. He had something to tell me about Kidokawa Seishuu."

Suzuno crosses his arms. "He could have waited for you to come home, at least. It's your holidays, after all."

For a split second, Terumi's expression darkens – but it does not escape his friends' notice.

"I guess you're right. It's _my_ holidays." The emphasis is so slight it becomes intangible. He toys with the hair strand coming between his two eyes. His gaze is empty, lost somewhere between the two boys standing in front of him – but then the postcard Nagumo is holding catches his attention. Suzuno is still hiding the book behind his back.

"You've bought something for yourself, Haru?" Terumi asks, bewildered. "Do you like Monet's _Water Lilies_?"

Nagumo, startled by Terumi's question, hides the present from his sight. But it's too late, he is already following his every movement with a sceptical eye, tilting his head to try and see what's he hiding. For every step back the redhead makes, Terumi makes a step forward. It's an automatic reaction from him, curiosity was always stronger than restraint – especially when it was about Suzuno and Nagumo. They played in the same team for years, first Fire Dragon, then the Pro League. They lived in the same apartment during all this time, and Terumi was always the one comforting Nagumo when he hid in the bathroom to cry, the one driving to get Suzuno after parties, listening to his drunk rants. He was their confident, their pillar; he brought them together again, at a time when they were lost.

"How are you being obtuse like this? He bought it for you." Suzuno steals the postcard from Nagumo's hands and gives it to Terumi.

"What?"

"Also, this is _my_ present." he says as he gives Terumi the hard-cover. "Much better, isn't it?"

"Gazel! Stop trying to act cool with your expensive presents! Mine has got _heart_ inside, unlike yours." Nagumo almost yells as he tries to push Suzuno away from Terumi.

"I also wrote something on your postcard, remember?"

The red-head babbles angry words and pouts, not knowing what else to do. Clearly, it was going to be the last time he did something out of solidarity with Gazel – that cold bastard didn't deserve it. Terumi looked at the way the light reflected on the glossy book cover, like a second sun in the corner of the oil painting. Then, he looked at the back of the _Water Lilies_ , only to find two single words written on it, along with their authors,

" _bonjuor – Haruya_ ". The R in _bonjour_ is written upside down, and it makes Terumi chuckle. He doesn't even bother to hide his face, even though Nagumo would feel offended by this mockery.

" _I love you – Fuusuke_ " He wrote it with the thin handwriting that he kept even when writing using Hangul. It made it sometimes difficult for Terumi to understand. However this time, just a quick look at the paper was enough to grasp the message.

Terumi's chuckle soon becomes a real laugh - and Nagumo and Suzuno, surprised by Terumi's reaction, end their bickering.

"W-what's wrong?" Nagumo asks.

Terumi walks up to the two of them, and wraps his arms around their waists to hug them both at the same time. Never he could admit it, but nowadays, he had been afraid. The small apartment he rented in Tokyo was cold and lifeless. During the rainy season, he could hear the droplets of water hitting the window in his bedroom. Nagumo's snoring was not there to cover the sound. When doing the groceries, he always buys gallons of ice cream, but when he stores them in the freezer, he remembers Suzuno isn't there to eat them. Coaching Kidokawa Seishuu was supposed to be a temporary thing. He wanted to help the kids face their biggest enemy yet, soccer itself. But growing attached to his team, he kept on postponing his return to Korea and the Asian Pro League, and with it, his reunion with his friends. This trip was supposed to be it, yet there was a sour feeling in Terumi's chest, telling him that maybe, just maybe, his two friends didn't want to keep him company.

"There's no way we could not want to be with you. No way." Suzuno says.

"No way." Nagumo repeats.

The two are answering an unsaid feeling. They were able to see the small hints, telling them something was wrong with their best friend, whom seemed more melancholic and reserved than usual. But the warmth of their chest against Terumi's, makes him think that he had been wrong to worry.

"Thank you, Haru, Fuusuke."

Holding the book and the postcard close to his heart, he walks out of the museum along with the two people he considers to be the most precious to him.


End file.
